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It always rains in Ame. Water pours from the skies, rattles doors and windows, falls so thick one can barely see what happens in front of their face. There are no stars at night, not in a sky covered by large stormy clouds that even hides the moon from view. Ame is dark and dreary, always has been, always will be. Power is strong in this country, fuelled by faith and the will of a people who thrive in such conditions. They exist in perfect balance, just so out of each other's eyes, in eternal harmony. Well... usually.
“Lookit, lookit. It's a babe!” A small group of tiny, barely visible lights descends from the rooftops of a wooden home in desperate need of repair. They dance around each other as they zoom through an opened window into a dimly lit room occupied by little more than a crib and a nightstand.
“So pretty, so pretty. It looks delicious, yes, yes!” One of the lights hovers directly above the baby's nose, soon joined by its fellows.
“Tasty little morsel...,” one of the lights murmurs and buzzes closer, touching the young child's cheeks, prodding at the flesh. Suddenly, the child's eyes blink open and nearly go cross-eyed as they fixate on the lights flitting about just in front of its face.
“It sees us, it sees us!” With an alarmed cry, the lights disperse and flee from sight, shooting out of the window and chattering loudly as they leave behind the village, thoroughly spooked. They're little troublemakers, yet oh so shy and elusive. Most people never truly see them. This baby does. And it will remember.
Everyone knows you are not supposed to wander close to the forest to the north of the village. There's no rules or regulations in place and most children don't have parents to watch over them. Ame is a place of orphans and lost children, so many young souls that learn to care for themselves far too quickly. As a matter of fact, there are too many young souls in that village, a number so disproportionate to the amount of adults, yet nobody questions this, doesn't worry about living in a place that always has more children that grown-ups. It's never been any different, after all.
Given the nature of such a village, the caretakers of various orphanages cannot possibly watch over every single one of their lost lambs. Young ones are curious and inquisitive. They tend to wander. Some get lost and never find back. Others are found. Even fewer still, are drawn to the forbidden woods, the sacred hallows, the place of those beings that come at night to take their surplus children, draw them into their fold and change them forever.
This one, with hair the colour of freshly bloomed cornflowers and eyes that shine and gleam in sunset orange, has always been too curious, with too little caution to temper its impulse. It has heard the tales of old midwives, and the scary stories other children shared in the dead of the night, and decided not to be afraid. It remembers the bright lights fluttering above its head when it was but a newborn, an image so clear and vivid in its memory, it never forgot. It burns with the desire to know, to see, a wish so bright it chases away the fear.
The steady pitter-patter of rain disguises the quiet sighs and clumsy movements, this young child makes as it climbs out of its window at night. The two others it shares a room with sleep soundly and are impossible to wake. Warm eyes widen and stare at the dancing lights they see in the distance, where the forest is located. With a small, secretive smile on its face, the child scampers towards its goal, blind to the barely noticeable shimmer around its head keeping away the watchful glances of those who would seek to stop it.
Humming a cheerful tune, the young one crawls through a small hole in the wall surrounding the village and stares in wonder at the untamed nature ahead. This is the first time it ever left the safety of its home and now the lights are so much closer. They shine and twirl in the air, and the sight is mesmerising. It reaches out to touch one, only to jump in surprise when it begins to speak:
“Come, come! Friends, yes!” The child's smile widens and so it follows the lights, towards the trees and into the heart of the forest.
The air past the thick line of trees is different. It's heavy with energy, sweet yet also fresh. The child has been breathing in rain and wet air all its life but somehow now the fragrance is even stronger, unnaturally so. It's not unpleasant and draws it in with promises of sugary treats and candied foods, everything the child has never gotten to experience before. Soon enough, as it steps over thick roots and tries not to slip on wet ground, the bright lights guiding it are joined by others. They're pink, yellow, green and blue, countless colours that blur together that dance in and out of its reach, daring it to chase them.
It tries to touch them but they are too quick, too agile to be caught and instead chatter loudly, jeer at each other, laugh and whistle as they zip in and out of reach before dispersing, teasing it to wander deeper into the forest. The air thickens further yet the child has little trouble breathing. Its lungs adapt more and more with every step it takes as the ancient power residing within these woods sinks through its skin and into its bones, curls itself around the young one's very soul. Gradually, all weight leaves its body and its feet barely have to touch the ground in order to move.
Eventually, the trees thin out and give way to fresh streams and rivers that sparkle like diamonds as they reflect the light of the moon shining down on their surface through a tiny gap between those thick stormy clouds. The rain never fades, grows stronger even, and drenches its hair even further until short thin strands stick to its face. The lights guide the child along the riverside. It walks for hours, soon loses all sense of time as daytime never comes and the world stays dark forever.
Hunger never comes, thirst eternally quenched, and the child walks and walks and walks until it passes through a warm shower of rain, so unlike the downpour it is used to. The water slides down its skin, trickles into its eyes and changes them. As the shower passes, the child rubs a hand over its face and blinks dazedly only to gasp in wonder as soon as the blur coating its vision fades away.
Right there, in the middle of a large clearing, is a vast beautiful lake. It shimmers and shines, brighter and more brilliant than the rivers that flow into it. The water is purer than crystal, sparkling in every colour under the sun and above it are more of those dazzling lights than the young one could possibly count. They sing and chant, giggle and chase each other, almost like... children.
“Come come, She wants to see you, She wants to meet you very much!” A few of the lights tug at the child's clothes until it pulls the wet fabric over its head, drops its pants and undresses until there is no barrier between its body and the rain.
“Changeling, changeling, changeling,” they hum and chirp, attach themselves to the child's hands and pull it towards the lake. The water is cool, not icy not warm, the exact same temperature as its skin which is no longer as it used to be. The moment its bare toes touch the lake, it gets pulled in deeper and deeper. Every inch of skin that disappears beneath the surface turns to diamond, white and brilliant, soft like flesh, twinkling and glittering like the most precious of crystals.
The child sinks into the water, feet sticking to slick earth. It doesn't hold its breath, doesn't worry about drowning even as its perky nose is submerged and cut off from the air above. It keeps walking and then, when the last strand of cornflower hair floats in the water, the world suddenly flips upside down.
The young one now stands atop the surface and below it, is the night sky and the rain that falls from clouds, upwards until it meets the bottom of its feet. Above, is an endless expanse of gleaming and gently shifting flecks of luminescence. An entire galaxy has replaced the horizon this child has known all its life and the mixture of glowing magentas and pale intense blues douses its surroundings into a mystical, nigh unholy glow.
“Child.” A faint whisper reaches its ears, a voice so sweet and lovely it completely enraptures the child, moves its head towards the source to gaze upon the most resplendent being it has ever laid eyes on. It is a woman, this ethereal and pristine being made of rainfall, glitter and wishes, that sits upon a throne of weaving branches decorated by crystal blooms that only enhance the aura of lustre that sticks to this woman like a second skin.
“Come closer,” she demands and this child has no choice but to follow. It makes nary a sound even as its feet splish and splash with every step across the lake it takes. The closer it gets to the woman, the more the lights around her dim, become less blinding and reveal more and more of her face. She is lovely beyond words, the kind of perfection not found on the mortal plains. Her lips are the same shade of those burgundy berries growing all around her throne, while her hair is cornflower blue, her eyes warm orange flares.
“A changeling? Oh, it's been so long since I last saw one of those,” she speaks as she raises a wet dripping hand to the child's face, places her palm on its cheek and gazes into eyes that mirror hers.
“Yes, child... you'll do.” With a small wicked smile, the woman breathes syrupy violet air into the young one's face, and promptly lulls it to sleep.
“Hi!” Bright orange hair pokes out from behind a large boulder, soon followed by a youthful face and a sunny smile. It's a boy, and he approaches with a small spring in his step.
“I'm Yahiko! Who're you?” Soft hands still, fingers still curled around a flower stem. Bare knees are halfway sunken in the mud, threadbare clothes long since soaked and caked in dirt.
“Konan,” the child replies and looks up, stars dancing in its eyes.
“So... do you have parents?” Yahiko asks as he balances on an unstable stick he rammed into the ground earlier. He wobbles precariously and is no doubt going to fall soon. Konan continues looking for just the right kind of flower. They're not easy to find, those sweet nectar blossoms, but her friends like them so very much. She promised next time she comes to see them, she'll bring a few.
“A mother,” Konan replies and crawls through the mud towards a large rock formation. Crouching down low, she sticks her head underneath the stone and gasps in delight upon spotting the pristine yellow blossom she has been looking for.
“Where's she then?” The boy abandons his antics and joins her on the ground. Tufts of orange hair stick out from his head in every direction imaginable, untamed and wild, and Konan finds she likes it very much.
“I don't know,” she answers and thinks of the woman she sees in her dreams, this shining figure with eyes and hair like hers, and the galaxies she holds in between her long spindly fingers.
“Here,” Konan says and hands the small group of orphans a few plump berries, the same kind the lights leave on her window sill every night.
“Thank you!” they cry and accept the offering, fill their small bellies with smiles on their faces. The following night, she watches as they leave their beds and wander towards the forest to never return. The next day, there's more berries and more children to feed.
The number of lights visiting her at night increases with every offering she makes.
She sends off a boy with red hair and ringed purple eyes and he, too, never returns. At night, the number of lights hasn't changed.
“No, thank you,” she tells the three legendary shinobi who offer to take Yahiko and her with them. War rages on the outside world but the rain keeps Ame protected and hidden from view the same way it chased away the faithless reptile years ago. The white-haired man tells her that he can elevate them to higher planes but Konan doesn't need wings to fly. Yahiko leaves and doesn't return for many years. Konan stays and distributes berries while dreaming of diamonds, rain, and a sky so much more beautiful and familiar than the one she wakes up to.
“I want to be Amekage,” Yahiko says, tall and grown, stronger now with new power running through his veins, and visions that don't please the lights at all.
“We have no kage,” Konan replies as she weaves brambles and flowers into one wreath after another, barely noticing the thin strands of rain that curl around her hands and slither into the wreath to become part of it.
“I'm going to find the most powerful shinobi in the world and convince them to join our village! Once we're strong enough, the other nations will have to recognise us!” Konan thinks of the power hidden in the forest that has served them well for millenia, sheltered them while asking for very little in return.
“Return home safely,” is all she says as she places a finished wreath on top of a child's head and arranges its hair so it doesn't fall in front of its face. The brambles poke its skin and draw a few droplets of blood but the rain washes them away instantly. Konan watches the red seep into the earth, then feeds the young one a berry and waves it away before turning to the next one.
“Stay away from the forest and the children,” she tells these Akatsuki and leaves the fortress. On her way out, she gently brushes the back of Yahiko's hand and smiles when he does.
A song wakes her, a soft and gentle melody that hums and whispers her name, calling for her. Lights flutter around her head, bounce and celebrate, are so excited they turn into a nuisance.
“It is time, yes, time it is!” they call as they buzz into her ears, pull at her clothes, tear open doors and windows, anything to make her move faster.
“A new one, a new age, a new lady!” She leaves her house and takes to the streets, not sparing any attention to the numerous children emerging from small nooks and crannies, all wearing wreaths, and with hands stained purple by the berries they feed on. They follow her, eyes glazed over, enraptured by the song that is meant for their ears only. She doesn't have to look at the guards to turn them silent and blind. They are sleeping, lulled into a dream world by the same melody that bids Konan to return home.
She leads the children into the forest, past trees and rivers, until they arrive at the crystal lake that is home to the lights. They join their brethren and whirl, spin and dance in excitement and anticipation as she and the children undress. One by one, they sink beneath the surface. To her left and right, children burst into bubbles and turn into lights, swim to the surface and join the celebration, douse the water into a rainbow of colours. Konan keeps walking, takes much longer until she is fully submerged. Once more, just like many many years ago, the world spins and turns upside down.
“Daughter,” the woman, mother, greets and beckons her closer. She looks different now; older, frailer. Her skin is translucent and shines like a beacon, her hair pale and turned to silver. She is surrounded by creatures she has never seen before, little beasts of rain, twigs or stars. They come in various sizes and shapes, and only the different colours of the light shining in their cores gives them away for what they truly are.
“Lady, lady! Old lady, new lady, gifter of berries, bringer of joy, She who guides the children, She who makes the family grow!” She makes her way across the lake, doesn't mind the tiny winged creatures that rub against her skin, or the brambly sprites that take her hands. They guide her into their fold until she is surrounded by her lost little orphans, her children, and kneeling in front of her fading mother.
“My time has come, my child. This family is now yours to lead, my power yours to wield,” she rasps as she slowly stands up from her throne, limbs shaking and moments away from giving in.
“You will bring the rain, guide the children, light up the stars, and keep the gift of those crowned before you.” Countless tiny fairies dance around her head as the lights around sparkle like diamonds and her bare feet rest in the shallow waters of the sprites' secret cove. Her mother, dying and spent with long whispy strands of silver hair that trail behind her, holds in her hands the gleaming wreath that once rested upon her crown. It's made of the purest silver, a filigree so impossibly thin she can almost see through it, with little droplets of water clinging to the metal. She places it on top of her head, then withdraws and steps back. Then, just before she bursts into a shower of water and glittering dust, returns her light to the skies that bestowed it upon her centuries ago, she whispers with her final breath:
“And I declare thee, Titania.”